


Letters: Part 2

by Feeshies



Series: Letters [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Canon Backstory, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, No Romance, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-11 05:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15308916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feeshies/pseuds/Feeshies
Summary: It was always going to end in tragedy. A look at the Knight Commander and the First Enchanter over the years.  Part 2/3





	1. Chapter 1

It didn’t get easier.  The weeks following Maud’s death weighed heavy on Orsino’s shoulders.  He couldn’t sleep. He barely ate. He didn’t leave his bed. The floor of his cell was littered with books carelessly tossed to the side.  Nothing of substance; just distractions.

Sixteen days after her death and Orsino stopped feeling altogether.  The tears ran dry. He couldn’t move. Even the pain was dulled, but only to be replaced with a thick fog that obscured his other emotions.  His days were spent staring blankly at the wall. Thinking nothing. Feeling nothing.

Maybe it was better this way.  No one knew how to act around him.  Most people would apologize. Every apology felt the same.  The sincere ones, the awkward ones, the rehearsed ones, the pitying ones.  All they did was remind Orsino of his pain. In fact, everything outside of his new quarters was a reminder.

The only person who could stand to be near him was Quentin, but they shared a room so it wasn’t like either of them had much of a choice.  Quentin had this glow about him, a shield of joy that protected him from Orsino’s unrelenting misery. Apparently Eleanor responded positively to Quentin’s letters, instead of with absolute horror like Orsino suspected.  Whenever he would receive a letter from his lover, Quentin had the same shine in his eye that Maud used to get whenever she heard back from her family. It was a reason to get up in the morning. It was a short moment where someone could forget they were a mage and be fooled into thinking that they were a real person.

Orsino would have killed to have a distraction like that.

Quentin floated into the room, a slender bouquet of white lilies tucked carefully under his arm.  Orsino stopped bothering to ask how he was getting these items smuggled into the Gallows. Mostly because he no longer cared.

“You’re still in bed,” Quentin murmured, but it didn’t seem that he was attempting to start a conversation so much as he was just trying to fill the silence.

The silence returned when Orsino rolled onto his side, his back facing Quentin.

Behind him, he heard a sigh and the gentle rustle of the lilies being set down on the table.

“Maybe if you just--”

“Don’t,” Orsino cut him off.

“I want to help you, Orsino,”

“Unless you can bring her back, I don’t want to hear it.”

Orsino heard Quentin sigh again.

“I can’t stand to watch you waste away like this.”

“That’s all we can do most of the time,” Orsino furrowed his brow as his fingers picked at the frayed ends of his blanket.  “All we can do is watch as the ones we love suffer. Because what can we do? We’re mages. It’s not like I could cast a spell that would make her happy.  I couldn’t make her life worth living. I couldn’t…”

Orsino looked over his shoulder and saw Quentin sitting across the room, simply nodding as he spoke.

“Talking about it should help.”

Orsino turned back around, pressing his forehead against the cold stone wall.

“Whatever.  I’m not going out there.  This cell is the only place in the Gallows that doesn’t constantly remind me of her.”

“You’re finally talking, so I’ll consider today a major step forward,” the cot creaked as Quentin stood up.  “I’ll bring you dinner again. Any preferences?”

“I don’t care.  It all tastes the same.”

“Well, that’s Circle cuisine for you,” Quentin responded with a chuckle.  “I’ll be back soon.”

The cell door jolted closed as Quentin left, and once again Orsino was alone.  He let his arm dangle off the side of his bed for a moment before sliding his hand underneath his mattress.  After a bit of searching, his fingers found the envelope containing the letter from Maud. Still unopened. Orsino closed his eyes.  His cell disappeared. The Gallows disappeared. All that mattered was that envelope. The last piece of her he had left.

Orsino opened his eyes, a ragged breath escaping his lips.

He couldn't open it yet. 

It just didn’t feel right.

 

* * *

 

Meredith rushed through the halls of the Gallows with a stack of paper held tightly against her chest.  Her body was sore and her hair was still sweaty from practice, but she didn’t care. Wentworth asked for the report five hours ago, but she got so caught up in training that it slipped her mind.  She didn’t even have time to scold herself for her carelessness. There would be plenty of time for that after the paperwork was delivered.

She skidded to a stop when she finally reached the door to his office.  Meredith allowed herself a few seconds to fix her hair and armor so she didn’t look like she just ran there from the other side of the Gallows, although her flushed skin and heavy breathing probably gave that away.

“I am so sorry, Knight Captain,” Meredith opened the door, forgetting to knock in the commotion.  “Training went on longer than I expected. It won’t happen again.”

The surface of the Knight Captain’s desk could hardly be seen from underneath the mountains of paperwork strewn about.  Near the corner of the desk was a bowl of room-temperature stew, still mostly full from lunch, or possibly yesterday's lunch.  The spoon was on the floor below where it most likely fell.

Wentworth was sitting behind his desk, his eyes lost in a vacant stare.  He didn’t seem to notice that Meredith was even in the room.

“Knight Captain?”  she cautiously stepped closer to him.  “Is this a bad time? I can come back later.”

Wentworth blinked a few times then sat up straighter in his chair.

“Oh, Meredith.  I didn’t see you come in.”

“I brought the report you asked for,” Meredith held the papers out.  “I’m sorry for not getting it to you sooner.”

Wentworth stared at the report in her hand.

“Report?”

“From this afternoon,”  the shame Meredith was already feeling in her gut burned even more.

“Oh, yes,” Wentworth spoke slowly as he reached a hesitant hand out for the papers.  “Thank you. I’ll look over this now.”

Meredith watched as the report joined the ocean of paperwork on his desk.

“Do you need help organizing some of this?”

The Knight Captain shook his head,

“That won’t be necessary.  You’ve already done so much for me.”

_ He’s angry at you for being late with the report.  He knows you’ll just mess everything up again. Just like you did during the lockdown. _

Meredith tried to push these thoughts to the back of her mind and nodded.

“Thank you, Ser,”  she stopped to wave away a fly that was circling over the bowl of stew.  “Can I at least clean this up for you? It looks like it’s been sitting here all day.”

“Oh, I forgot about that,” Wentworth laughed.  “Got so caught up in work. You can clear that out if you’d like.”

“Right away, Ser.”  Meredith picked up the bowl and hurried out of the office, just anxious to get out of the room.

Meredith didn’t know if it was the embarrassment or the bowl of old soup in her hands that was making her feel sick to her stomach.  Usually Wentworth’s office was the only place where she could feel relaxed. Whenever she would eat dinner with him or help him with his work, it almost felt like she was with her family again.  She felt safe.

But something was different.  What if it was her fault? It had to be.  She acted out of line during the lockdown.  She should have done something sooner. A young mage was dead because of her.

Meredith didn’t mourn Maud, but the shame ate at her just as much as despair would have.  Some of the other templars praised her for her bravery, but there was nothing brave about what she did.  She didn’t save the Gallows from an abomination. She found the remains of a life that would still be here if she acted faster.  Wentworth would have known what to do. That’s why he was ashamed of her.

These thoughts continued to cloud Meredith’s mind as she entered the mess hall.  Before she stepped into the kitchen to clean the bowl, she couldn’t help but pick up on a conversation between a couple chantry sisters sitting nearby.

“I’m telling you, the Knight Captain is losing it.”

“I believe you.  He’s been acting a little...off lately.”

“Lyrium will do that to you.”

“Such a shame.”

Meredith didn’t make it to the kitchen.  The bowl was left abandoned on one of the tables as she escaped to the relative comfort of her quarters.

It was easier to think that he hated her.


	2. Chapter 2

Orsino could only feel somewhat at peace when he was lying in his cot.  A thick book was open flat on his chest and his neck ached when he craned his head up to read it.  Weeks ago, Orsino asked Quentin to bring him any book from the library. For whatever reason, his cellmate returned with an outrageously long tome about the history of the Free Marches.  Orsino had no idea how a book so dry and dense could also be so devoid of content, but at least the words gave him something new to look at.

The cell door slid open and Orsino’s eyes darted up.  He expected Quentin to float inside and begin overwhelming him with his tiresome hope for the future, but that didn’t happen at all.  Instead, Quentin stood over him, his shadow blocking the light Orsino was using to read.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to tell you something,” Quentin began slowly.  “But you’re not going to like it.”

Orsino didn’t say anything.  He simply closed his book and looked up at Quentin, prompting him to continue.

“You need to get out of your cell, Orsino,”  it sounded like Quentin wasn’t even bothering to mask the desperation from his voice.  “For your sake. I know it feels easier to just lie around and soak in your own misery, but that’s only going to cause you to keep spiraling.”

Orsino sighed, letting his head fall back against the pillow.

“I don’t want you to start worrying about me.”

“I’ve been worrying about you for a whole month, Orsino.  That’s why I’m forcing you to start taking care of yourself.”

Orsino closed his eyes.

“It feels like I can no longer move.”

“Then I'll help.”

Before Orsino could react, Quentin looped his arms around him and pulled him out of his cot.  Orsino squirmed and struggled in his grasp.

“Let go of me,”  Orsino tried to wriggle away, his feet barely brushing against the stone floor from the height Quentin was holding him at.

“It seems like you can move just fine,”  Quentin let go of Orsino so he could stand properly.  “Also I didn’t want to say anything at first, but you really need to bathe.”

Orsino scowled,

“Why do you care?”

“Because I’m the one who has to share a cell with you, but we can discuss this later,”  Quentin took a step back to open the cell door further. “Let’s just walk to the mess room and back.  Won’t even take ten minutes. Then you can go back to your moping.”

Orsino almost objected out of sheer instinct, but he knew that if he refused he would have to listen to Quentin bugging him about it all day.

“Fine,” he sagged his shoulders and trudged towards the open door.

“Wonderful,” Quentin beamed.  “You’re one step closer to feeling like yourself again.”

“It’s just a short walk.  Relax.”

What was supposed to be a short ten minute walk felt like an eternity.  It was like the scar tissue that formed over the wound was ripped open and the pain came flooding back.  This wasn’t right. Whenever they would turn a corner, he swore he could see her. He used to walk these halls with Maud.  She used to be here. She used to be alive. She used to not be some scorch marks burned into a closet wall.

Orsino’s vision went white and he fell to his knees.  He could hear Quentin calling his name, but his voice was distant and distorted like he was hearing it from underwater.  When he finally returned to his senses, Quentin was sitting next to him on the floor, gently rubbing small circles into his back.

“I’m sorry,” Quentin whispered.  “I shouldn’t have forced you to do this so soon.  It’s okay if you aren’t ready.”

“Can we go back now?”

Quentin nodded and helped Orsino back to his feet.

Orsino didn’t feel calm until they reached the area of their cell.  Peace was only a few feet away. Just a few more feet and he would feel safe again.  Just a few more--

“Orsino?”

The two topped and turned around to see a young mage.  Even though she knew his name, Orsino didn’t recall ever seeing her before.

“What is it?”

“I haven’t seen you around in a while.  I'm Elsa,” she tucked a few strands of her short blonde hair behind her ear.  “I didn’t get the chance to say I’m sorry. For your loss, that is.”

This was exactly what Orsino feared.  Even after a month, the apologies only felt like another twist of the knife.

“Yes, it’s a shame what happened,” Orsino was about to motion Quentin to start walking back to the cell again.

“But maybe this will be the final push the Circle needs to start listening to us more.”

Quentin tensed up.  Orsino stopped dead in his tracks.

“What do you mean?”  Orsino’s voice trembled.

“I just--” the mage trailed off, obviously trying to backtrack her previous statement.  “Maybe her de...maybe what happened to her won’t be in vain. Maybe--”

“Maud was not a martyr,” Orsino tried to keep his voice down, but there was no way to cover up the bitterness that soaked his words.  “She is a dead seventeen-year-old girl.”

“I’m sorry, I--”

“Orsino, let’s go.”

“What makes you think anyone would start listening now?”  Orsino moved his arm away when Quentin started tugging at his sleeve.  “It’s been a month and nothing has happened. No progress, no effort, not even a fucking ceremony.  All that has happened is that I get to hear about how sorry everyone is, but how sorry are you? If people were actually sorry, maybe--”

“What he means to say is ‘thank you’,” Quentin grabbed Orsino by the back of the collar.  “Maker watch over you, and all that.”

As Quentin dragged Orsino back into his cell, tears fell down the young mage’s cheeks.  Orsino didn’t feel as bad as he probably should have.

Quentin practically shoved Orsino into the cell before forcing the cage door closed.

“Do you want to talk about what just happened?”

“No,” Orsino was already climbing into bed.

“I can’t believe you said that!”  Quentin paced around the cell. “She was just trying to be nice.”

“Why would she?”  Orsino muttered as he stared  down at the floor. “She didn’t know me and I didn’t know her.”

“Some people like showing kindness to others.  You should try it sometime.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’m not a joy to be around after what happened.”

“Yes, I know.  But,” Quentin sighed.  “At some point, you’re going to have to rejoin the rest of humanity.”

Orsino raised his eyebrows.

“Or elf...ity,” Quentin shook his head.  “Whatever.”

Orsino sighed, “Maybe it would be best if I stayed here.”

“No, and I’ll tell you why,” Quentin moved closer so he was standing over Orsino.  “You clearly don’t care about your mental health, but what about the Templars? They’re going to notice eventually.”

Orsino scoffed, “I passed my Harrowing.  What would the Templars even do to me?”

“They could lock you up in solitude, Orsino,”  Quentin’s voice broke. “Do you understand? Solitude.”

“Perhaps they should,” Orsino mumbled into his pillow, his eyes still fixed on the stone floor.  “Maybe then I’ll finally get some peace and quiet.”

When Quentin didn’t respond, Orsino looked up at him.  His hands were clenched into fists that trembled at his sides.  The hurt etched into Quentin’s expression was impossible to miss.

“After just one day in solitude, after just one day alone in the dark with nothing but your own mind to keep you company,” Quentin’s wavering voice was quiet, but it still made Orsino’s blood run cold.  “Maybe then you will finally understand just how much you need people.”

Orsino didn’t even hear the sound of the cell door slamming when Quentin stormed out.  All he could hear was the emptiness. The gentle splashing of the waves outside, the creaking of cots in the other cells, the echoing thuds of footsteps through the halls.  The faint suggestions of life. Orsino’s breath hitched and, for the first time in a month, he started to weep.

It didn’t take him a day in solitude.  Just a few seconds alone in his cell and he understood.

He needed people.

But he didn’t deserve them.

 

* * *

 

Meredith couldn’t go about her job without her mind eventually winding back to Wentworth.  Being a knight captain was dangerous work, but Meredith never had to face his mortality before.  The very idea that Wentworth would forget something so simple like a report or his lunch was just absurd.  Wentworth wouldn’t do something like that. He was the ideal captain. The perfect image of what every templar should strive for.  He was…

She made the same mistake again.  There was a time when she would have looked up to her mother and father in the same way, only for them to be taken away from her.  The templar order was supposed to have matured her. But here she was, idolizing someone like she was still a little girl. Now she was going to lose him too.  Maybe the only person she could put her faith into was the Maker. The Maker wouldn’t disappoint her or abandon her.

Her walking came to an abrupt halt when she saw Orsino making his way through the halls.   Maker, he looked bad. Even from a distance, she could tell how beat-down he looked. Meredith was lucky enough to avoid him up until that moment.  She hadn’t seen him since their conversation in the chapel. She regretted every second of their talk. What was she thinking? What could she possibly hope to gain by telling him about her family?  That knowledge was out there now. He could do anything with it. He could humiliate her if he wanted to. It would be that easy. How was she supposed to react when he saw her?

Fortunately, it seemed that Orsino did not notice her.  He was walking next to Quentin, the odd mage from Starkhaven.  The only reason she knew his name was because many of the templars were warned about him.  Apparently he got in a lot of trouble back at his old Circle for showing interest in forbidden schools of knowledge.  Meredith hoped he wouldn’t be a negative influence on Orsino. From their brief interactions, Meredith knew Orsino wasn’t a bad person.  If he focused on his studies more, he could be the model of what a Circle mage should be.

Meredith quickly turned the corner before they could see her.  She knew she could only avoid him for so long. But there were a lot of mages residing in the Gallows, so perhaps at some point he would just blend into the crowd.

The rest of her patrol continued without incident, but that doesn’t mean Meredith felt at peace.  But there wasn’t a lot she could do about that. The only thing she could do properly was her job.  Well, actually she wasn’t sure she could even do that right anymore.

Evening light seeped in through the windows of the Gallows, soaking the halls in a brilliant orange.  The end of Meredith’s shift lead her towards the Knight Captain’s office. She had been dreading this moment all day.  She did not want to see him, knowing she wouldn’t be able to look at him in the same way. At the same time, she hated herself for wanting to avoid him.  All she wanted was for him to be the same valiant captain who carried her all those years ago. She wasn’t ready to be alone again.

The door to his office was left ajar.  There was no light coming from inside. Instinct took over anxiety and Meredith rushed towards his office.  She held her breath and peered in through the gap.

Wentworth’s office didn’t look like it was cleaned up since the previous day.  In fact, the condition looked worse. The mountains of unfinished work on his desk expanded to the floor along with books that were carelessly tossed from the shelves.  Plates and bowls, dirty with uneaten food, were shoved away into random corners of his office. But Meredith didn’t focus on any of that. Instead, her gaze was fixed on Wentworth himself.

The captain was pacing in a circle with his hands formed into fists in his thinning hair.

“Stop it,” he muttered under his breath.  “Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.”

His chanting was so quiet and fast that his words melded together into a single vibrating note.  But his voice was enough to stab its way into Meredith’s chest.

“Knight Captain?”

She didn’t expect Wentworth to hear her, but the pacing and chanting stopped at once.

“Meredith?”  The Knight Captain rubbed his eyes as he looked at her.  “What can I do for you? I thought you would be training right now.”

“Training?”  Meredith’s hand tightened around the cold iron doorknob.  “It’s evening, Knight Captain.”

The Knight Captain didn’t respond and instead looked around his office, clearly bewildered.  He shook his head and with a weary sigh, fell back onto the chair in front of his desk.

“Knight Captain, are you o--”

“I am fine, Meredith,” he rubbed his temples.  “I’m just tired.”

“I can help if you want,” Meredith took a single step into his office.  “You don’t look well, ser.”

“I’ll be okay.  You should go to bed.”

“Please, ser.  I only--”

“I’ll be okay,” Wentworth repeated, his suddenly stern tone sent chills up Meredith’s spine.  “Go to bed.”

Meredith didn’t move.  She couldn’t. All she could do was stand there frozen as Wentworth got out of his chair and closed the door in front of her, leaving her alone in the hallway.  Meredith hugged her arms and leaned forward to press her forehead against the wood door.

Inside, she could hear the rustling of paper and Wentworth’s frightened rambling resume.

Meredith could only hope that it muffled her sobs.


	3. Chapter 3

The bowl of soup trembled in Orsino’s hands as he made his way down to the library.  He hated every moment that he was there. The library still felt incomplete without seeing Maud at one of the tables, staring out the window or fast asleep behind an open book.  The pain in his chest and the throbbing in his head told him to turn around and return to the shelter of his cell, but he pressed onwards. This was the right thing to do.

Quentin was sitting near the back of the library, furiously scribbling down notes he was taking from one of the tomes.  Orsino took a deep breath and stepped closer to him.

When he saw him, Quentin’s eyes widened.

“You’re out of your cell.”

“Here,” Orsino kept his head down as he placed the bowl of soup on the table.  “I brought you lunch. I didn’t know how else to thank you...and how else to say sorry.”

“Some seasoning would have been nice,”  Quentin pulled out a chair for Orsino and motioned for him to sit down.  “Here.”

“Did they...back in Starkhaven,” Orsino stammered through his words as he picked at his fingers.  “How long were you…”

“Only a month,” Quentin responded nonchalantly as he ate a spoonful of the watery soup.

“That’s still a long time to be by yourself.”

“Oh, it was awful.  Wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemies.”

A silence swelled between them, only to be occasionally pierced by Quentin flipping through his papers or Orsino cracking the bones in his fingers.

“I’ve been meaning to apologize to you as well,” the humor drained from Quentin’s face as he stared down at his notes.  “I acted without fully considering what you have been going through.”

“That still isn’t an excuse for how I’ve been acting.”

“True, but it got me thinking.  If something happened to Eleanor, Maker forbid,” Quentin closed his eyes and sighed.  “I don’t know what I would do. You need to take your time to grieve. I should have respected that.”

“I only wish I got some closure, you know?”  Orsino traced patterns on the table with his index finger.  “If the just Circle acknowledged her, I feel like that would help.  Or at least a ceremony.”

“You could always put something together yourself,” Quentin shrugged.  “Who else would be better fit to send her off than her best friend?”

Orsino considered the idea for a moment, then sighed and sagged his shoulders.

“You really think the Circle would let me do something like that?”

“Orsino, you’re talking about the Chantry,”  Quentin gestured at the library decor. “They live for this shit.”

Orsino smiled for the first time in what felt like months, but it quickly faded when he realized something.

“I’m going to have to go back to the place where it happened.”

Quentin was already starting to pack up his notes.

“I’ll go with you.”

Orsino shook his head and Quentin stopped.

“No, I feel like I have to do this alone,”  Orsino stood up, pushing the chair in behind him.  “Thank you.”

“If you’re sure,” Quentin sounded hesitant, but he sat back down nonetheless.

Orsino didn’t want to go alone.  He didn’t want to go at all. But he needed to.  He believed that seeing the place where it happened would cut through the remaining traces of denial that still clouded his mind.  And he needed to go alone. It wouldn’t be the same if Quentin was there to bail him out. The only way he could come to terms with it was to face the truth by himself.  Even if it was getting more and more difficult to breathe the closer he got to the apprentice quarters.

It had only been a month since Orsino passed his Harrowing, but the apprentices looked younger than he remembered.  They looked brighter, less worn-out. He wondered how long it had been since he last looked like that. He wondered if he ever looked like that.

He couldn’t see the closet from where he was, but he could feel it.  He could feel the chills, the pain in his chest, the screaming in his mind commanding him to turn around.  The screeching was louder than before. However, it was not loud enough to block out a conversation two templars were having nearby.

“...I don’t know.  A mage died in one of those closets a month or so ago.”

Orsino froze.  This was the first time he ever heard anyone else talk about Maud.  He knew he shouldn’t be eavesdropping on a templar, but a feeling of curiosity and even hope forced him to listen.  Maud was not forgotten. Even these two templars knew about her. What if this was a sign of change? What if this was a small step towards the future Maud wanted for the Circle?  What if--

“Abomination?”

“No, I heard she killed herself in there.”

“Huh, at least the problem took care of itself.”

“Maker, that’s horrible!”

But the templar laughed anyway.  They both laughed. The laughter made Orsino want to throw up.  The laughter made his body burn with a hot rage he hadn’t felt in ages.  It wasn’t the explosive rage of a fighter but rather the slow simmering rage of a person who was unable to fight.  The rage that made him want to to sob violently and tear off his own skin. A powerless rage. This isn’t how Maud should have been remembered.  Orsino wanted to destroy them for speaking of her in such a way. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t act out. So why in the Maker’s name was he walking towards the templars?

“Excuse me?”  Orsino didn’t realize how weak he felt until the two fully armored templars turned to face him, but he swallowed his fear and stood his ground.  “I overheard your conversation. Would you care to elaborate?”

“You shouldn’t eavesdrop on a templar, mage,”  the templar purposely deepened his voice to speak to Orsino.  “Move along.”

“I just want to know why you think it was okay to speak about her in such a way.  I want to know how anyone could have such little compassion!”

“How dare you--”

“That  _ ‘problem’ _ you were talking about?”  Orsino was far past beyond the point of caring about his composure.  “Her name was Maud and she died alone! Mage or not, she still died alone!  Maud was never the problem, she was the victim of the problem! The real problem is people like y--”

Orsino felt the wind knocked out of him as someone grabbed him by the back of the collar and dragged him away.  When his back was slammed against the wall, he expected to see Quentin gripping him by the front of his robes. Instead, Meredith’s furious and tired eyes were staring back at him.

“What do you think you’re doing?”  Meredith’s fist tightened around his robes.

“I wasn’t going to let them talk about her that way,” Orsino looked away, purposely avoiding her gaze.

“Do you want to get yourself killed?  Or thrown in solitary?”

“I’m already locked in here like a prisoner, what difference would it make?”  Orsino squirmed in an attempt to get out of her grasp. “I wasn’t going to let them talk about her like that.”

Meredith pushed him harder against the wall, causing him to gasp.

“I don’t care what they were saying about your friend.  You cannot speak to a templar like that!”

Orsino thought he felt powerless before, but now he was being berated by a templar who was also holding him off the floor.  The more powerless he felt, the hotter the rage inside him burned. The rage tore through all rational thinking as he narrowed his eyes at Meredith.

“What if they were talking about your sister like that?”

Orsino didn’t see her move.  The next thing he knew, he was on the ground.  The left side of his face stung where she struck him.  Meredith was standing above him, her breathing heavy and her tangled blonde hair obscuring her eyes.

“I didn’t tell you about my background so you could disrespect me like this,” her words were dripping with venom.  “I told you because I pitied you--because I was foolish enough to believe you deserved my pity.”

Orsino just curled up in a ball on the floor, unable to respond.

“If you want to be a prisoner so badly,” she hissed.  “Learn to behave like one.”

He heard Meredith stomp away.  The confused chatter of the apprentices only resumed when she was further down the hall.  There was a small sliver of his mind that felt foolish for saying such a thing to her, but the rest of him didn’t care.  In a way, he was glad that she was hurt by his words. The templars have gotten away with saying such horrible things. It felt good to be on the other side of that for once.

Besides, any anger Meredith was feeling must have been nothing compared to the rage that was growing stronger inside him.

 

* * *

 

Meredith found herself sitting in the chapel, unable to continue her shift.  Her hand still trembled from slapping Orsino. She didn't even use her full strength, but the damage was done.  She hated him for daring to speak to her like that, but she still acted out of line. This wasn't how a Templar was supposed to behave.  She didn't punish him correctly. Instead, she allowed her emotions to overpower her.

Like a mage.

She stared up at the statue of Andraste glimmering above her.  Tears began to form in her eyes, blurring her vision. As a Templar, she was supposed to have full control over her power. Wentworth wouldn't have behaved so irrationally.  At least, he wouldn’t have before. Honestly she didn’t know what to expect from him nowadays.

Meredith let herself slide off of the stone pew so she was kneeling in front of the statue.  Her lip quivered as she pressed her forehead against the floor. 

She prayed.  Not for herself, but for Wentworth.  He was still an ideal Templar. He deserved health and happiness.  He deserved these things much more than she did.

“Maker, please give him whatever good fortune you would have bestowed upon me,” she whispered.  “I'm already lost.”

The dried tears caused a few strands of her hair to stick to her face as she sat up.  She opened and clenched her hand a few times. Corrupt mages still existed. Evil magic still plagued Thedas.  The people needed the Templar order, even bad Templars like her.

Meredith squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fist.  It was time for her to stop feeling sorry for herself and get back to work.

She still had to finish her shift. 

 

* * *

 

“I let you out of my sight for one minute…” Quentin muttered under his breath as he pressed a cold rag against Orsino’s face.

“I don’t blame her for smacking me,” Orsino hissed as the rag touched him.  “But I don’t regret it.”

“You’re lucky she only smacked you.  Did you not listen to a word I said?”

“I did, but…”  Orsino’s voice trailed off as he moved away from Quentin and sat down on his cot.  “You should have heard what those templars were saying about Maud. I couldn’t do nothing.”

“Yes, you could have,” Quentin sighed and dropped the rag on the table.  “Because they are templars and you’re a  _ mage _ .”

“Maker, you sound just like Meredith,” Orsino fell backwards onto his cot.

“I hope so.  Because I’m about five seconds from smacking you myself.”

“So what do you suggest?  We just do nothing? Allow the templars to treat us however they want?”  Orsino rubbed his forehead. “I’m tired being treated like this.”

“Ah, I heard that sentiment from many mages before.  Usually it gets beaten out of them,” Quentin strolled over to Orsino’s cot and sat down next to him.  “Hopefully you’ll come to your senses before that happens.”

“Are you serious?”  Orsino sat up, unable to keep his voice steady.  “I thought you, of all people, would understand! Why aren’t you taking me seriously?”

Quentin furrowed his brow,

“What do you mean,  _ me, of all people _ ?”

“I’m talking about Eleanor!  If the Circle treated us like people, you think they would let her visit you.  Or at least let you write to her more than once a month. I know how much you love her.  Isn’t that something you would be willing to fight for? Don’t you want to see her?”

Quentin was silent for the longest time, but Orsino could feel the energy that was burning off of him.  When he finally did speak, his voice was biting.

“You think I don’t dream of being with her every night?  Every moment I’m not with her, I’m suffering.,” Quentin closed his eyes and shook his head.  “But unlike you, I was forced to face the consequences for acting out against the Circle. If you are stupid enough to want to get thrown in solitary, be my guest.  But I’m not going down with you.”

Orsino felt his mouth go dry,

“I just want to be treated with basic decency.”

“That’s really cute, Orsino,” Quentin sighed  “But that’s not happening. Just learn to appreciate the life you have.”

“But that’s not liv--”

“Orsino, please,” Quentin pleaded.  “Your heart is in the right place, but you’re not going to change anyone’s mind by yelling at some templars.  They’re just going to frame you as a bad mage. They’re going to make an example out of you by having you either thrown in solitary or hanged.  Your voice will go quiet like the other good-hearted people who came before you.”

“So that’s it,” Orsino slumped his shoulders.  “I failed Maud.”

“You didn’t fail her,” Quentin placed a hand on Orsino’s back.  “And she wouldn’t have wanted you to beat yourself up like this.”

“You don’t know what she would have wanted,” Orsino turned away from him.

“I know I wouldn’t want my friend to feel this way.  Which is why I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Orsino was thrown off by Quentin’s words.  After everything that had happened to Maud, being called someone’s friend just felt...wrong.  He felt like he was choking. No matter how wrong he felt, he couldn’t shake the sense that he needed this.

“I just wish I could have done something for her,” Orsino’s fingers picked at the bedsheets.  “I can’t stand the thought of her being forgotten.”

“If you still want to do that ceremony for her, I can help.”

Orsino looked at him in shock.

“You’d do that?”

“Of course.  You don’t have to suffer alone,” Quentin paused.  “Unless you decide to mouth off to more templars. Then you’re on your own.”

* * *

 

Orsino soon realized that he didn’t know the first thing about making a memorial.  It wasn’t like the Circle gave him any resources. But he tried.

The original plan was to set up the little shrine near the closet, but Orsino still couldn’t go near it.  So instead, they settled for a small area near the entrance to the apprentice quarters. The shrine itself wasn’t much to look at.  A few small candles were lit and placed around the floor. Most of Maud’s belongings were either sent back to her family or thrown away.  The best Orsino could do was stack up some of her favorite books from the library. Meredith still had that one book she leant her, but Orsino wasn’t going to attempt to ask for it back.

Quentin decorated the wall with paper flowers and a sketchy drawing of Maud done on a piece of parchment paper.  Since Quentin never met Maud and he only had Orsino’s descriptions to go off of, the portrait barely looked like her.  Orsino swore that the picture looked just like Quentin’s doodles of Eleanor, just with curly hair. But it was probably easier this way.  Orsino didn’t know how he would handle seeing an exact replica of her face.

Orsino stood next to the shrine, shifting from one foot to the other as a few confused mages walked over to investigate.

Quentin glanced over at him,

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Orsino felt his body grow cold.

“Wait,  _ I’m _ supposed to speak?”

Quentin shrugged,

“She’s your friend.”

Only four mages were actually looking at him, but it felt like it might as well have been the entire population of Thedas.  He felt his knees begin to shake and his body felt cold. He knew they could tell how nervous he was. They were probably thinking about how scared he looked, how much of an idiot he was…

_ This isn’t about you, Orsino.  Think about Maud. _

Orsino cleared his throat and took a tiny step forward.

“Uh, greetings.”

_ Greetings, really?  Did you really just say that? _

He clenched his hands into fists as he tried to push these self-deprecating thoughts out of his mind.  Through the corner of his eye, he saw Quentin give an encouraging nod.

“I wanted to talk about my friend, Maud.  She, um, she died about a month ago and she never got a proper ceremony here.  I know it doesn’t look like much, but I…” his voice was quivering and he couldn’t breathe.  “...I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

Orsino moved to turn away, but Quentin stopped him by gently grasping his shoulders.

“Are you okay?”

Orsino shook his head,

“I can’t do this.  Maud deserves better.”

“You’re doing fine,” Quentin patted his shoulder.  “You’re her friend. Anything you say is going to be perfect.”

Orsino took a deep breath and nodded,

“Okay, I’ll…”

He was cut off by the sound of clanking armor entering the chambers.

The other mages scattered when a group of armored templars marched towards the shrine--lead by Meredith.  Her cold stare locked with his. He felt his body tense up.

“Clean this up,” she gestured at the shrine.  “You can’t have lit candles around all this paper.  It’s dangerous.”

“What?”  Orsino exclaimed, ignoring Quentin’s protesting behind him.  “This is a memorial for my friend!”

“Move it somewhere else,” Meredith stepped closer to him.  “This walkway needs to be clear for the apprentices.”

Orsino was about to protest, but Quentin grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back.  He held her gaze as he knelt down and began blowing out the candles. He expected Meredith to make some sort of snide remark like most templars would have.  Instead, she watched him silently for a moment before disappearing down the hall with the other templars.

“I should have said something,” Orsino’s fingers tightened around one of the candles.

Quentin sighed and knelt down beside him to start gathering up the books.

“Now’s not the time, Orsino.”

Orsino kept his eyes fixed on the stone floor as he blew out the last candle.

 

* * *

 

Long after the failed ceremony attempt ended, Orsino found himself returning to the apprentice quarters.  He didn't realize he was wandering in that direction at first. He was shocked back to his senses when he saw the door of the closet just a few feet from him.  The door was tiny, but it felt like it was towering over him. His mouth went dry. His legs shook. He couldn't breathe. 

Without thinking, he reached out and let his fingers trace along the smooth wood.  The door was cold, but Orsino swore he could feel something. He could feel her. When he closed his eyes, he swore he could hear her.  The same voice he heard in the Fade. The voice that had been silent for so long, even in his dreams.

He didn’t remember opening the closet door, but he remembered closing it behind him.  In all his years in the Gallows, he never experienced darkness like this. He couldn’t see two inches in front of his face, but he could feel the walls closing in on him.  It felt strange not being watched for once. He was always being watched by templars, other mages, the tranquil, and even the eye of the Maker that decorated every hall. Being in that closet was the first time Orsino was truly alone, and he felt every second of that loneliness.

Orsino swept his hand against the wall as he lowered himself to the ground.  He didn’t care that he was sobbing out loud. It wasn’t like there was anyone around to judge him.  He wondered if this is how Maud must have felt during her final moments. By this point, he was curled up in a ball on the floor.  He swore he could still feel her presence. Not her humor or her bubbly joy. He felt her despair, her hopelessness, her pain. 

His face was pressed against the closet floor.  It was clean. He didn’t know what he expected. Before, he was afraid that her remains were still in the closet.  He had nightmares about opening the door and finding her body, or the ashes that remained of it. Images of scorch marks on the walls plagued his mind.  For whatever reason, the reality stung him just as much. The walls were cold. The closet was scrubbed clean. Every trace of her was gone, and that was the end of it.  She was treated like a spilled drink on the mess hall floor. That’s all she was to the Circle. She didn’t even get the dignity of a ceremony.

Orsino shook harder, his nails scraping against the wall.  Even after she was dead, he still couldn’t be a good friend.  The ceremony failed. No one was thinking about Maud unless they wanted to pity him.  Nothing was going to get better. He failed her. 

In the midst of his thrashing, Orsino’s leg bumped up against something.  He jolted up to a sitting position and cast a tiny glowing light. Not enough magic to be noticed from outside the closet, but just enough for him to see.  After crying in the dark for so long, it took Orsino’s eyes a while to adjust.

“Andraste’s Grace…”

Sitting there in the corner of the closet was Maud’s shrine, reconstructed to the detail.  Orsino’s lip quivered and the tears began flowing again, but he smiled. Someone remembered.  Someone...cared. 

The shrine looked exactly the same, except for one item.  Propped up in the center was a book, but one that wasn’t featured in the original set-up.  Orsino felt his heart drop when he recognized the cover. It was the book Maud gave to Meredith.

The despair was slowly being overshadowed by anger and confusion as he reached for the book.  After flipping through the pages for a few seconds, a note slipped out.

_ Orsino, _

_ I apologize for acting out of line and letting my emotions get in the way of my duties as a templar.  I hope this makes up for it. _

_ Meredith. _

The note crinkled in Orsino’s fingers.  The shrine no longer felt like an act of kindness  It felt like a bribe. It was like she placed a simple bandage on a wound and expected it to heal, instead of checking for the infection beneath. 

He closed his eyes, and let the note burn in his hand.

 

* * *

 

Orsino stumbled back to his cell, exhausted from the emotional overload.  His eyes stung from crying and his chest ached from breathing so heavily. Part of him still missed the loneliness of the closet.  He felt so vulnerable walking through the halls with his red face and trembling form.

The last few hours of sunlight were streaming in through the windows, but Quentin wasn’t in his cell.  Orsino paused when he reached the empty room. The most likely scenario was that Quentin was down in the mailing room, pleading with the tranquil to let him write an additional letter to Eleanor.  At least his absence would give Orsino a few more minutes alone.

Orsino knelt down next to his bed and fished out the letter from Maud.  He held his breath as he prepared to tear the envelope open. His thumb froze under the flap.  He couldn’t do it. This was still the only piece of her he had left. Besides, he still hadn’t earned the chance to open it.

With a defeated sigh, he slipped the letter back under his mattress.  Right before he got the chance to stand back up, something under Quentin’s bed caught his eye.  Something he certainly hadn’t noticed before. He knew it would be rude to go through his things, but curiosity did him in.  He crawled over to the other cot and reached underneath.

He found books.  Heavy books Orsino didn’t recognize from any of the Circle’s collections.  The worn leather cover was blank, providing no explanation for the contents inside.  When he finally opened the book, Orsino gasped.

Orsino identified the illegible handwriting as Quentin’s right away, but that wasn’t what shocked him.  The writing was incomprehensible, but the pictures were clear as day. Anatomical diagrams drawn with disturbing levels of care and detail.  Images of muscle fibers being torn apart and stitched back together. Orsino couldn’t believe what he was looking at, but for whatever reason he couldn’t help but continue to turn the pages.  As he flipped further through the book, the reasons behind these diagrams became clearer. This wasn’t just a normal case of Quentin being shocking. These images had a purpose.

Necromancy.  At least, a horrifying form of necromancy Orsino hadn’t even dreamed of before.  Such knowledge could get a Circle mage executed on the spot, but here he was holding a book containing the information.  There was almost a certain thrill from it.

“Pleasant reading?”

At the sound of Quentin’s voice, Orsino dropped the book and scrambled backwards.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

Quentin knelt down and picked the book back up, caressing the leather cover.

“So, you know my little secret.”

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have…” Orsino looked up at him with wide eyes.  “Please don’t tell me you’re actually doing this stuff?”

“What, this?”  Quentin held the book up and Orsino backed away out of instinct.  “No, this is purely academic.”

“But why?”  Orsino couldn’t keep his eyes off of the book.  “Do you know how much trouble you can get in for this?”

“Yes, and I already experienced it first-hand.”

“Then why--”

“Don’t you ever dream about the kind of power you have yet to unlock?  The Maker gave us the power to shape the world as we see it. And the Chantry just wants to lock us up so we can practice throwing tiny fireballs all day?”  Quentin sighed, holding the book closer to his chest. “I like to dream of the possibilities.”

“But why nec…” Orsino couldn’t bring himself to say the full word, as if the Maker would strike him down right then.  “... _ that  _ kind of magic?”

“You have to admit there is a certain...allure to necromancy, right?”  he flipped through the book, looking way more pleased with his work than Orsino felt comfortable watching.  “Being able to reanimate the dead, to create life like the Maker himself. It sounds glorious. Just to have some sort of control…”

Quentin stopped when he noticed the look on Orsino’s face.

“I’m guessing the feeling isn’t mutual.”

Orsino shook his head.

“Tell me you’re joking.”

“Please, I’m not that funny.”

“But is this worth being thrown back in solitary for?”  It was requiring all of Orsino’s willpower to keep his voice down.  Really all he wanted to do was scream at him. “I want no part in this.”

Quentin’s eyes locked with Orsino’s.

“Are you going to tell the templars?”

Orsino’s body went cold.

“No, of course not.”

Quentin’s face broke into a slow smile.

“Then you do have a part in this.”

Orsino stared down at the floor, his breathing labored and his mind racing.

“The templars check under our beds,” Orsino began quietly.  “You wanted me to find that.”

Quentin grinned,

“You looked first.”

The chills didn’t go away even as Orsino was lying in his cot that night.  An aspiring necromancer was sound asleep across from him--an aspiring necromancer who was also his only friend.  Orsino closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the pillow.

What was he getting himself into?


	4. Chapter 4

Meredith spent the next five years throwing herself into her training.  Being a Templar was the only thing that felt right, and it was the only thing she knew she could do well.  She didn’t mind talking with her fellow knights, but maintaining her social life was not a priority of hers.  Now that she was older, she had to learn to reject the multiple invitations to the Blooming Rose. How her colleagues could be so open about visiting that sort of place made absolutely no sense to her.

Her sword slashed through a training dummy, the rough sound of steel through straw was the only thing that could be heard in the empty field.  It wasn’t even dawn yet. The flickering torches surrounding the perimeter of the training grounds provided Meredith with a passable amount of light, but they did absolutely nothing about the cold.  Even the act of moving couldn’t provide her with warmth.

Still, at least it was easier than sleeping.  Meredith wondered if she could blame her nightmares on the lyrium anymore.  Lyrium or not, they were getting harder and harder to manage. There were nights when she would wake up on the other side of the barracks in a cold sweat.  Night after night of images of her family. Of Amelia’s face being twisted into that horrible monster. Of Wentworth slowly losing his mind alone in his office.  Of Maud’s remains burned into the walls of that storage closet. Night after night of her mistakes, her regrets, her failures. She couldn’t handle it.

With each sweep of the sword, it felt as if she was slicing through these intrusive thoughts.  If she trained more, she could become a better Templar. If she became a better Templar, she could avoid making such mistakes again.  This was a good thing. It didn’t matter that the sun hadn’t risen yet and already her hands were blistered and her back was aching. This was a good thing for her.  This was a good thing for Kirkwall.

“Awfully early, no?”

Meredith almost dropped the sword unceremoniously as she flailed.  When she managed to calm down, she looked over her shoulder and saw Knight Captain Wentworth.  She had no idea low long he had been standing there.

“I like training when there’s no one else around,”  Meredith pushed a few strands of stray blonde hair out of her eyes.  “It’s peaceful.”

Wentworth chuckled,

“I see, but perhaps it’s time you try using a different weapon.”

In a steady movement, the Knight Captain unsheathed his greatsword and presented it to her.

For a second, Meredith forgot how to breathe.  It had been so long since she last saw him carry his prized sword like that.

“But this is your greatsword,”  she reached out for the hilt, but she was too afraid to actually touch it.  It felt like reaching out towards the hand of the Maker. “Are you sure you want  _ me _ to use it?”

“Just try practicing with it.”

Meredith took the greatsword.  The last time she held it, she was a scared little girl who just lost her family.  Even though the sword was way too heavy for her little arms, just the simple act of attempting to swing it around gave her a few seconds of peace after the horrible tragedy that had just occurred.

The sword no longer felt so foreign in her grasp.  Every movement felt natural. It was only her second time using the greatsword, but she picked it up as if she were using it her whole life.  Meredith stopped and took a moment to stare at the sword, admiring how the blade seemed to glow under the light of the rising sun.

“You’re a natural,”  Wentworth’s voice was quiet as he walked over to her.  “I feel even more confident in my decision now.”

Meredith looked up at him, her hands still clenched tight around the grip.

“Your decision?”

Wentworth nodded, his gaze softening as he leaned against a wooden post.  He stared over the horizon, watching as shades of red and orange began to seep into the morning sky.

“I’m not going to be Knight Captain forever and I need to choose a successor,” he looked back at her and smiled.  “I believe I found her.”

Meredith almost dropped the sword.

“Me?  Knight Captain?  You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I am,” Wentworth laughed.  “What? You don’t think you can do it?”

Meredith’s mouth went dry as she stared back down at the sword.  She couldn’t picture herself as a captain, but that’s because Wentworth was always the Knight Captain.  It was hard for her to imagine a future where that was no longer the case.

His health wasn’t getting any better, but fortunately it didn’t look like it was getting worse either.  If she rationed out her time with him, it was easy for Meredith to trick herself into thinking everything was fine.

“I don’t know,” she slumped down on the ground, the sword still in her hand.  “I wouldn’t make a good captain.”

“Well you haven’t been a captain before, so there’s no way of knowing,”  Wentworth sat down next to her. “But why do you think that?”

“I failed to help my family, I didn’t act properly during the lockdown, I hit a mage, Maker, I could go on,” she leaned her head back.

“Meredith, you were just a child.”

“But I was still a Templar.  That’s not an excuse.”

Wentworth sighed as he looked back up at the sky.

“Do you remember why you became a Templar?”

“Of course,” Meredith rotated the sword around in her hands.  “I wanted to protect people, but I’ve already made so many mistakes.”

“If you would make a bad captain, you wouldn’t admit you made mistakes.  A good captain will try to learn from them,” Wentworth smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder.  “But, you’re not going to learn from them by dwelling.”

Meredith’s fists tightened around the hilt as she struggled to hold back tears.  It had been years since she last cried. She wasn’t going to start now. Her body shook.  Her voice was quiet.

“A good captain wouldn’t be scared.”

The sun rose as did the silence between them.  The light really drew attention to how much older Wentworth looked.  Sometimes, it was almost hard to believe that this was the same Wentworth who pulled her out of that cellar all those years ago.  However, she had no trouble believing that she was that same scared little girl.

“You’re allowed to feel scared, Meredith,” Wentworth’s gentle voice floated through the silence.  “But you’re also allowed to be kinder to yourself.”

The greatsword was returned to Wentworth.  Even when Meredith went about her day, she could feel it in her grasp.  She could see the blade gleaming in the sunlight. She could feel the satisfying weight as she swung it.

She could feel the blisters forming on her hand.

 

* * *

 

By the time the sun began to set, Orsino burned through two candles and five research papers.  His hand cramped, his eyes stung, but he kept writing even though his handwriting was far beyond the point of being comprehensible.

Orsino stopped, taking a minute to stretch the tension from his fingers.

“Maker, you’ve been at that for hours,” Quentin murmured from his cot, his face half-muffled from the pillow he was pressing his face into.

“I have to get this done.  Enchanter Gracia needs this paper by tomorrow.”

Orsino believed Quentin was wrong about a lot of things: what the best school of magic was (it’s force), how to wear a robe properly (with breeches underneath--no excuses), and the perhaps the biggest source of disagreement between the two was the subject of necromancy (completely unacceptable).

However, Orsino knew Quentin was right about one thing: he wasn’t going to get the attention of the Circle by yelling at some templars.

So Orsino did whatever he could to stand out in the eyes of the other mages.  This was mostly done by doing research of writing papers for the senior enchanters.  Orsino normally would have loved to spend his days combing through old tomes, but this wasn’t about enjoyment.  Any personal academic gain didn’t matter. All he wanted to reach someone with real authority in the Circle. Maybe then, it would all be worth it.

Orsino was just about to return to his work until he noticed something strange on Quentin’s bedside table.  An unopened envelope, fresh from the mailroom.

“Is that from Eleanor?”

“No, my loving family finally remembered I exist,” Quentin briefly lifted his head from the pillow to roll his eyes.  “Of course it’s from Eleanor.”

The letters came in yesterday and normally the envelope would have been in shreds by this point.  Quentin would have been reading it over for what had to be the fifteenth time that day.

“Is everything okay?”  Orsino set his papers to the side.  “It looks like something’s bothering you.”

“Look at you,” Quentin lifted his head off of his pillow, smiling lazily.  “Doting over me. So sweet.”

“I’m not doting.  It’s just that it’s unusual for you to not open Eleanor’s letters,” Orsino paused for a moment, unsure if he was prepared to tread into these waters.  “Is everything all right between the two of you?”

The smile faded from Quentin’s face and he sighed, rolling onto his back.

“Everything is perfect with us.  She’s wonderful. She’s my reason to wake up in the morning, but,” his voice broke.  “But I’ll never get to be with her.”

“But you knew this already, right?”  Orsino knew that Quentin was in the Circle just as long as he was, if not longer.  There was no way he hadn’t caught onto this by now.

“Well you see, Orsino, I had this stupid thing called ‘hope’.  I thought that maybe…” Quentin shook his head. “I don’t know what I thought.  It just pains me to know that she’s out there and there’s nothing I can do. It pains me to know that she’s wasting her wonderful life waiting for me.  I can’t…”

Quentin trailed off as his voice became weak.

“Every day, I feel more of the distance between us.”

Orsino felt a pit form in his stomach.  What was he supposed to say? What could he say?  He couldn’t relate to a word Quentin said. But he had to do something.  If he didn’t…

“Have you tried telling her this?”  Orsino stared down at his hands. “It wouldn’t do anything about your situation, but just being open could help you feel better.”

“I don’t know, Orsino,” Quentin sighed.  “I only get to write to her once a month, I don’t want to spoil it with such negativity.”

“I’m sorry,” he looked back down at his papers.  “I’m not the best at dealing with these types of dilemmas.”

Quentin smiled at him,

“I’m not expecting you to solve all of my problems.  Sometimes, just having a friend to talk to is enough.”

“But I might be able to help you,” Orsino tried to return to his writing while carrying out the conversation.  “If I can get the attention of someone more powerful in the Circle, I might be able to influence some real changes.  Perhaps even visitations with outsiders.”

“Watch out for that hope,” Quentin grinned.  “It’s even more dangerous than necromancy.”

Orsino tensed up.

“I thought I told you to stop bringing that up.”

“I’ll only stop when you stop reacting in such a hilarious way.”

Orsino frowned and resumed his work.  Other than the times Quentin brought it up to get a reaction, it was easy for Orsino to forget about his fascination with necromancy.  He never talked about it in a serious manner and it wasn’t like he left his research lying around. Quentin was always weird, but he never came off as “necromancer” weird.  Besides, Orsino had enough on his mind even without worrying about his friend being a necromancer.

“Quentin,” Orsino spoke softly, not looking up from his work.

“What is it?”

“Do you think I could make a difference in the Circle?” he twisted his fingers together against the desk.  “Be honest.”

“Do you think I could ever be with Eleanor?”

Orsino looked up at him, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m being serious, Quentin.”

“So am I,” Quentin sat up on his cot and reached for Eleanor’s unopened letter.  “In my opinion, both are just as likely to happen.”

Orsino slumped his shoulders.

“So you don’t have faith in me.”

“Sounds more like you don’t have faith in me.”

“I’m just trying to be realistic.”

“Realism’s good and all, but the Maker works in strange ways,” Quentin pressed his thumb under the flap of the envelope and tore.  “Perhaps he’s listening.”

 

…

The night air was oddly warm as Meredith paced around the training yard.  She still couldn’t sleep, but she didn’t have the energy to swing her sword.  Even though she was training harder than ever, she always felt weak. She knew that her body needed a good night’s sleep, but her mind was unwilling to let her have it.  If she learned to control her life better, the nightmares would go away. All she had to do was work harder and strive to be a Templar worthy of--

“Hello?”

The voice was faint and muffled, but it sliced through Meredith’s mind.  Turning around, she saw a young mage standing on the other side of the training yard.  Her blue Circle robes were baggy on her frail form and her long blonde hair was hastily tied into a loose braid.

Meredith felt her stomach drop.  Her body went cold.

“Why are you not in your cell?”  She couldn’t even make her voice sound like that of a stern Templar.  There was no command to her words. Just confusion--and fear.

When Meredith took a step forward, the girl collapsed to the ground.  Meredith couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. All she could do was watch in horror as the girl’s body writhed and twisted.  The sounds of crackling bone and snapping tendons filled the air.

“I need assistance!”  Meredith screamed as the monstrous form before her started to take shape.  “Please, help!”

It felt like she was screaming underwater.  No one heard her. Everyone else was peacefully asleep in the barracks.

Meredith steeled herself and prepared to face the abomination by herself, only to turn around and find the training yard empty.

She fell to her knees, burying her fists in her hair.  Her breathing was heavy. Her head was throbbing. This couldn’t be happening already.  She was too young! She didn’t even get a chance to prove herself as a Templar.

With the little strength she had left, Meredith rolled onto her side, the soft cold grass pressing against her cheek.  She stared at the area where the abomination once was. It looked so real. She swore she could still see the blood on the ground from where the creature took shape.  How could she reasonably call herself a Templar if her mind could be so easily manipulated?

Somehow, Meredith found herself walking through the barracks.  She couldn’t remember how she got there. She couldn’t remember where she was going.  She couldn’t remember,

She couldn’t remember.

She couldn’t remember.

She couldn’t.

She couldn’t.

Meredith’s surroundings became a blur as she began walking faster through the halls.

_ Remember. _

_ Remember? _

_ Why can’t I remember? _

Eventually, voices began to enter Meredith’s head.

_ I heard Meredith is losing it. _

_ Maker, what a shame. _

_ So early in her career too. _

She fell to the floor.  She could hear them. All of them.  She knew they were talking about her, but that was about it.  The throbbing in her head grew in intensity as her mind strained.

_ Please remember. _

_ Please remember. _

_ Please. _

_ Please. _

The pillow beneath her head was wet with tears as Meredith seeped back into reality.  Her vision was blurry, her body was half-dangling off the bed.

Meredith rolled onto her back, breathing heavily and wiping the cold sweat from her forehead.

It would probably be for the best if she continued to go without sleep again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry this took so long to get out. I wanted to finish all of Part 2 before I started uploading, but I got impatient. I only have 3 more to finish, so hopefully I'll still be able to update consistently.
> 
> Also I discovered the "Quentin's wife was Revka Amell" theory after I started writing this and I really wish I went that route instead. Too late to change that.


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